Who will bear my woe for today?
by Oblivian03
Summary: Imprisonment is a harrowing ordeal for anyone involved – boredom, worry, fear, desperation, and loneliness all symptoms of the affliction. Yet just as everyone deals with illness differently, so do they deal differently with imprisonment, some in a more irritating way than others. One shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or anything related to it. I am, however, responsible for the song of which you are about to see. Beware, it's a plague upon any and all who hear it... ;) (I apologise if the formate is annoying due to the song)**

* * *

"O, hidey-hidey-hey, hidey-hidey-hoe,

My name is Balder-grey and I'm married to a sow.

O, hidey-hidey-hoe, hidey-hidey-hey,

Who will bear my woe for today?"

Three weeks.

"Now I've always been the unluckiest of sorts,

Since my birth I've been plagued by cramps and warts.

My ears are too big and my feet turned in.

I'm forever tripping over my sagging skin."

For three weeks they had been separated. For three weeks they had been trapped in cells as wide as an elf was long alone or, if they were lucky, in pairs.

"I was dropped on my head by my mother at birth;

They say that's when I lost my sense of mirth.

My father, a good dwarf, lost me down a well

And the shivers that I got still won't quell."

For three weeks they had been subject to questioning by an arrogant king whose patience was growing thinner with every passing day.

"O, hidey-hidey-hey, hidey-hidey-hoe,

My name is Balder-grey and I'm married to a sow.

O, hidey-hidey-hoe, hidey-hidey-hey,

Who will bear my woe for today?"

For three weeks they had been kept from pursuing their goal.

"The first job I got was a real odd thing;

My master was an even odder king.

I was the court's fool, not the worst I could be,

But the audience laughed at everything but me."

And for three weeks they had been suffering under torture more brutal than an orc could devise in the twisted, perverted recesses of its vile mind.

"From there, I barely kept my head –

I almost sold it for a bed.

Ah, to lay asleep at night!

But I get no sleep 'cause the bugs all bite."

Bofur's voice rang out as strong as ever, its ever-present odd twang accompanying the words as always. His was the only voice to do so. Even Nori and Thorin's nephews had ceased their singing after the third rendition of the song.

Thorin himself was in two minds about that.

On one hand, their singing had allowed Thorin the relief of knowing that both Fili and Kili were at least well enough to bellow at the top of their lungs. The position of his cell meant that the mountain-less king was unable to see either of his two nephews. This, more than anything, was what made sleep all but unreachable to the mighty Oakenshield. On the other hand-

"O, hidey-hidey-hey, hidey-hidey-hoe,

My name is Balder-grey and I'm married to a sow.

O, hidey-hidey-hoe, hidey-hidey-hey,

Who will bear my woe for today?"

The great Thorin Oakenshield ground his teeth, vowing that he would not break beneath the torture being unleashed upon him. He was stronger than that.

He hoped.

"I walked into a bar one foggy eve

And, O, what sight did before me-"

"How do you still have a voice?" Dori growled from somewhere below.

"How can you still stand that song?" Fili groaned in bewilderment.

"How have the elves not killed you yet?" came a dark mutter that nevertheless carried through the prison. Nori hunched further in on himself in abject misery.

"Come now," Bofur teased. "You were singing it yourself not that long ago."

"In the mistaken belief that doing so would shut you up!" Nori shot back, his words as sharp as the weapons they had been relieved of.

More grumbling followed the shady dwarf's words. Whether these grumbles were supporting or accusatory in nature was debatable. Whatever they were, it did not matter to any of the dwarves so long as they were not Bofur's. Any voice bar Bofur's would be welcomed, even that of the elven king who had thrown their hides into prison in the first place. He, at least, would not take to singing the same gaudy ballads over and over, or recount in detail the time someone had a great aunt whose brother whose son whose cousin whose grandmother whose husband whose sister whose daughter whose friend whose mother had an old acquaintance who met a dwarf with a gnarly toenail shaped like Gandalf's hat.

Up in his cell Bofur huffed in mock indignation. "Well, if you don't like that song I have plenty more that I can sing."

The others of the captured company all shrieked a loud, consecutive and very – in Thorin's opinion – elfish "NO!"

"That is enough for today." Thorin's rumble echoed around the prison on the tail of the maddened cry. It was a voice that even Bofur's grandfather's son's wife's daughter's brother's child would not argue against, if the tales that the toymaker had told were true.

Gloin smiled at the implications; peace, quiet, a chance to finally take a nap without that blasted song in his ears. He fingered the locket round his neck – the digits still twitching in subtle fury in the face of the insults launched at those within – and smiled some more. Then his smile faded as he realised that, even though the elves had been kind enough to fix Oin's ear trumpet – it was something, at least, even though they had insulted his family – the healer could just remove it to nap any time he wanted.

A spark of sibling jealously made its way to the suddenly morose dwarf's tongue. "At least one of us doesn't have to listen to that damned racket."

He was promptly shrunk a few vertebras on his spine as something crushed him from above.

"Ow! What was that for?" groused Gloin. The ginger dwarf rubbed his head from where Bifur had clobbered him.

Bofur's cousin just frowned at him before looking back out of the bars. The half crazed dwarf's gaze first sought out Bombur and then his more troublesome kin, turning to a frown when he once again found that a view of the hat-wearing toymaker was just on the irritating side of being inaccessible.

Said toymaker had already begun to go about bothering another, closer victim with an almost passive-aggressive cheer, something else perhaps mixed in and disguised amongst the edges of his tone.

"Do you know what time of day it is?" The lack of a response from the stone-faced elf did not deter the toymaker. "It's been weeks since I've seen the sun. That is if it hasn't been months or years…."

Bofur's words trailed off. He hadn't seen the sky for so long, let alone the blinding sun that hung in it. True, as a dwarf, he was accustomed to going without the sight of the brilliant blue expanse for long periods of time, yet he had always had the opportunity to emerge into a bath of golden rays whenever he pleased. To be prevented access was a fear most prominent amongst miners, the ones who in spending their lives in darkness needed the reassurance they could still reach the light. To be trapped in the same rock that gave rise to the first of their kind and would bury the last, unable to escape, unable to see the colour blue once more, unable to see earnestly waiting family-

"It's so easy to lose track of time even when one isn't locked in a cell, you know," the toymaker said conversationally.

A grin made larger for its malicious delight carved a path across the dwarf's face at the audible grinding of elfish teeth. Never let it be said that he had passed up a chance to antagonise the very elves who had so rudely imprisoned him. At the dull thump of a hard head hitting harder stone across from him, Bofur's grin grew all the more wider. Two victims were far better than one.

"I mean, there was this one dwarf I knew who was so busy trying to figure out how to turn silver into gold. A complete lunatic that one, always raving about one thing or another. He never could shut up. Thought the sun was the moon and the moon was the sun, and boy would he go off on a lengthy speech as soon as you asked him why he was trying to turn silver into gold!

"Anyway, he had this brother who owned a grocer's stall and always sold apples even when he didn't have any to sell. The box would be empty but he would insist that they were there and he would insist that you would buy some if you were to walk past. It was an offer you couldn't refuse or else you'd end up with all sorts of groceries hurled at you, but never the apples, invisible or not. No, to get an apple you had to buy one.

"Now I don't want to speak badly about any of my fellow dwarves, but madness runs in their family you see. At least every generation of their rather large family – it is astounding that their family got to be so large considering how many of them are struck by a crippling madness that would otherwise see them walking happily off the edge of a mine – had no less than three dwarves struck by some form and varying degrees of insanity."

Here the toymaker began to count off on his fingers. Perhaps he was oblivious to the pain he was causing the elf outside his cell and the tattooed dwarf across from him, perhaps he was not. Perhaps there was some another reason for his constantly flapping lips. A deeper, underlying reason born from a small, lonely place as invisible as a mad dwarf's apples to the naked eye. Whatever the case Bofur still kept joyously chatting away to the desolate beat of a bald head repeatedly assaulting a wall.

"There was, of course, the dwarf who tried to change silver to gold and the apple seller, and they had a cousin – a rather beautiful female; she had a thick, flowing beard that would be the envy of many a dwarf – who always crowed like a rooster at the setting of dusk. You would think it would be at the crack of dawn, but it was always at dusk. And, Mahal, what a pair of lungs she had! It came in handy, mind you, when one lost track of time. Whether you were blinded by the darkness of the mines or by your brother's poor aim when hunting, you could always rely on her to tell you when the sun had passed from the sky and the moon had risen in its place…"

For a brief moment something shadowed flickered across Bofur's face. It was a great contrast to the cheery words he had been spurting uninhibited only moments before. Yet, the thing had barely settled before the toymaker shook it off with only the briefest of hesitations marking its silent passing.

"But my apologies, I digress."

If it were at all possible, two sets of teeth of two beings – one short and one fair – clamped together even harder.

"So this dwarf - the one trying to turn silver into gold, not the apple seller, although it is hard to tell them apart. They are twins you see. Born one summer's eve on a night where the wind was howling. They say the father dropped them on the head by accident, startled by the shutters on the house being blown wide open by the wind, only it wasn't the wind, it was his neighbour who up until that point had been sleeping peacefully until he was woken by-"

"Shut up, can't you?" came a growl from across the prison. It was the sound of a long suffering soul that had seen many a bloody battle and was now facing its greatest one.

From the opposite wall of the vast room, Bofur shot Dwalin an affronted look. Offence spread across the toymaker's features as he matched Dwalin's scowl in its ferociousness. With a huff, he turned his back on the offender and did not resume speaking.

For the first time in what felt like years Dwalin felt a smile hook the corners of his mouth and draw them upwards. The elven guard that stood outside of Bofur's prison caught the burly dwarf's eyes. There was a moment of comradeship as the elf too gave a small smile, the two enemies sharing in the triumph over a mutual foe. Then the veil was lifted and indifference made to settle across both broad and angular features once more.

It seemed that the world almost sighed at the missed chance of something akin to reconciliation, tired of fighting within its everlasting bounds. So it, despite its longing for peace – from orcs and dwarves, from elves and men, from dragons and tiny smart folk with hair on their feet – took a more vengeful approach to the matter.

"O, hidey-hidey-hey, hidey-hidey-hoe,

My name is Balder-grey and I'm married to a sow.

O, hidey-hidey-hoe, hidey-hidey-hey,

Who will bear my woe for today?"

Dwalin returned to thumping his head against the stone behind him, absently wondering which would give first. If he were lucky it would not be the wall. In times like this there was something to be said for the peaceful solace of unconsciousness so deadly in the heat of battle, yet so alluring in the dank prison cells.

It was not to be.

"Now let me tell you of the time

When I almost died but for a rhyme…"

Unable to truly account for time in their prison and having finally grown used to Bofur's singing once more, the dwarves could only say that it was a while before any of them realised that something was different. It was even longer before any realised what was different. It was longer still until someone realised that something was wrong.

All they had to do was utilise an ear. There was no need to strain it for there was nothing to strain it over. Even the half-deaf Oin could decipher what was wrong without an inkling of difficulty.

"Is it just me or has this place suddenly become too quiet?" Nori's words echoed off the walls in place of what, in the opinion of the company, should have been there.

"Don't tell me he's given up now," Gloin raged. "Alright! You win, you bloody sneak!"

And it was when the usual reply of 'And here I thought Nori was the sneak' did not come that real panic set in.

"Bofur?" Thorin called. "Bofur!"

"Can you hear us?"

"Bofur!"

"Say something!"

"Durin's beard! _Sing_ something!"

"Be careful what you wish for, Gloin."

"I'll wish all I want, Dori, and don't you tell me otherwise."

"Or what? You're in cell just like me."

"Maybe if you just-"

"Stay out of this, Ori!"

"No cell can hold me!"

"Calm down, nadadith."

"You heard what he said, Oin! Ow! Stop it! Why do you keep hitting me?"

"If no cell can hold you, why are you still here?"

"Why you- Ow! Stop it!"

"You're both as bad as Bofur."

"No asked for your opinion, Nori."

"Bofur, answer me!"

"Dwalin, what can you see?" Balin asked of his brother, wording echoed by the company's leader.

"Quiet!" the warrior in question roared. "It's hard enough seeing what is going on without being distracted by all your blathering!"

The space between the cells once again became a soundless void as anxious breaths were locked away behind the same bars of the few that dared to breathe them. Dwalin grit his teeth. Somehow the silence was worse that the previous discordant din.

He lifted himself from his position against the wall and moved across the short space of the cell floor. Pushing himself up against the bars, he caught sight of a slumped figure on the pallet that supposedly made a bed in every cell. The warrior swallowed his pride and met the eyes of one of his kinds most hated rivals.

"Is he…?"

Across from him the elf gave a short nod.

A smile mixed with no small portion of relief sighed its way onto Dwalin's face. "He's just sleeping."

"Good," said Gloin. "Between serenading us to sleep and yelling us awake I doubt he has gotten much sleep himself these past days."

Dwalin exhaled. It was true the troublesome toymaker had seemed like an insomniac cursed to plague them all in the elven dungeon. Yet, that did not mean he had been any less worried about the seemingly inability for Bofur to claim the same repose he took glee in denying some of them more than others.

…And even then, the tattooed warrior had had a feeling that the dwarf was in the process of losing his voice over more than just the desire to annoy every elf and dwarf in his vicinity. It was better to be annoyed at a friend than ensnared by woe, after all. If a few elves were driven mad along the way, all the better, certainly better than the alternative.

Even the largest smile could be built atop the darkest woe.

"O, hidey-hidey-hey, hidey-hidey-hoe,

My name is Balder-grey and I'm married to a sow.

O, hidey-hidey-hoe, hidey-hidey-hey,

Who will bear my woe for today?"

Dwalin groaned in such a manner that would have shamed the mighty Durin himself. Across from him a shocked elven guard could only stand in disbelief.

"Tell me he is not now singing in his _sleep_ ," Nori asked.

Dwalin gave a grim smile that went unseen by the others. The tattooed warrior's eyes remained fixed upon the toymaker across from him who was blissfully caught in an ignorant repose. "Then what is it you want me to say?"

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 **TRANSLATION:**

 **Nadadith =** _ **little brother**_

 **I wanted to do some of Bifur speaking, but it is annoying to have to look it up (and it takes a lot of effort as well… and essentially is a pain in the butt, and I'm having difficulty finding it again) and I feel like being lazy after finishing the last of my exams today…. So, sorry.**

 **Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this. I've been meaning to write it for a while (I had part of it written and just needed to finish) and yeah. Now I've had the time to really do it (as well as the mindset). And sorry if I lost you at any point with the writing (I almost lost myself a few times...) Cell wise, I think I ended up as a cross between the movies and the book. It works for the story, so yeah. Also, I know the song is not perfect - it's not meant to be given its prime purpose is to annoy the others (plus just be loud and humorous in all).**

 **Again, I hoped you enjoyed this. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. I would love to hear your thoughts about this.**


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